The Golden Ritual
The ledger lies open before you, its pages thick with the weight of invisible debts, and you are told, in a voice that sounds like dry leaves skittering over cracked pavement, that the harvest is ready and the field must be cleared before the frost sets in, though the window behind you shows a sky of such pale, indifferent blue that it seems to mock the urgency of the season. You are Arthur, or...
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